Catching Icarus
by SilentSymmetry
Summary: "If you see someone fall, pick them up." The Kingdom of Corona has a lot of recovering to do after the damaged inflicted by "The Mad Alchemist". While the Princess journeys to save her home, a distant ally arrives offering unexpected help. Icarus may have drowned but there's still hope for Varian, if someone will try to catch him.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Mid-morning found Corona's capital already sweltering under the summer sun, though you'd never be able to tell from the royal family's pavilion.

Arianna sighed contentedly as a breeze drifted past them.

"It's a lovely morning, isn't it, dear?"

Frederic hummed affirmative, fingers drumming left, pushing food around the plate on his right. The bags under his eyes were returning after nearly a year long reprieve, insomnia creeping out of the shadows the second his daughter and crew were out of sight. At the very least the creature seemed more like a perturbed mother-in-law than the monster it had been for nearly twenty years. No real nightmares to speak of.

"Although we could use some rain." His Queen commented.

He nodded. Had that been an owl call?

"I'm thinking of wallpapering the west wing."

No, not an owl. But she could have used a falcon, right? Those were easy enough to come by.

"How do you feel about polka dots? Or elephants?" she continued.

"Uh-huh."

Had he given them enough food? Money?

"It's been so quiet since they left."

"Yes, of course." They could always go to an allied kingdom for help if they got desperate. And between the lot of them, someone had to know how to fish and forage.

"That's why I've invited the gentlemen from the Snuggly Duckling to stay here while they're gone. They will be running a day care center for the staff's children out of the dungeons. They'll be here this afternoon and joining us for dinner."

"Yes, sounds wonderful, dear."

He really should have brought those binoculars Arianna had bought him for his new 'hobby'. He'd taken up bird watching, waiting for a particular owl to bring some news of his daughter. Arianna had meant it was a joke but they did come in handy. Maybe he'd get some proper sleep if he got some news from Rapunzel. The bird watcher's field guide Ariana had given him along with the binoculars was the only thing that had put him to sleep the past few evenings.

Frederic nearly jumped out of his seat at the sight of Nigel approaching with an envelope.

"Any word from Rapunzel?"

"Not since the last time you asked, Your Majesty."

Arianna giggled at her husband's dejected expression.

"There is, however, something you should see." he held the letter out, the silver seal catching the morning sunlight. "It appears to be from the Gaian Queen- pardon me. The Empress of Teemah'Omgaia."

His heart stopped briefly. When had been the last time he'd heard from them? Turning down the invitation to Rapunzel's coronation? No, it had been this spring, announcing the death of the previous Empress. Empress Lynnima had been – how had his father put it? A silent but reliable ally. Cold and absent in peacetime but dependable fire power when her allies were in need.

What could they want now?

He opened it, half expecting a declaration of war the way things had been going lately. But the paper smelled of lavender and was written in what he guessed was the Empress' own hand. He read it again and again, this couldn't be right. But there was the royal seal on the envelope, the Empress's stamp embossed on the pages. He handed the letter to Arianna.

Her eyes widened. "Well, it seems we need to set up some guest quarters, Nigel. We're going to be having quite a bit of company."

The Heroine pulled into port a week later, as promised. Frederic and Arianna waited on the dock with as much of an entourage of guards as could be spared from duty elsewhere. He was pointedly not thinking of all that could that could go wrong, though that was a bit of a reprieve from missing Rapunzel. He could have used her help on this, or at least her optimism. It would have been a good learning experience for her as well, building relations with their most reclusive ally, learning about a culture so different from their own.

"They seem to be taking a while to come ashore." Arianna commented.

Frederic glanced at his pocket watch, dabbing sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. It had been nearly an hour already and the ship had long been secured. They just announce their visit and then keep them waiting? What kind of game was this Empress playing?

 _I'm sure they have a good reason, Dad._

"I thought you told Rapunzel that Kings don't fidget."

"Princesses, Arianna. I distinctly said Princesses don't fidget. And neither do I, for that matter."

Finally a gang plank was lowered and a young man approached with five others following close behind. Faint freckles dotted his dark face, the sun glinting off the silver studding his blue uniform and pinning back his curly black hair.

He bowed low, followed suit by the men behind him.

"Your Majesties." He took Arianna's outstretched hand, pressing her knuckles to his forehead rather than kissing them. "I am Admiral Perrault. I must apologize for the delay in meeting you."

He had fully expected Admiral Perrault to be a woman from what he'd heard about the country, but from the looks of it only men made up the crew.

Frederic smiled, inclining his head slightly. "It is an honor to receive the Empress' assistance. We are truly grateful."

"You said there was a delay?" Arianna asked.

"Ah, yes." The admiral nodded. "Regretfully it seems some of our supplies became contaminated during the journey. Roughly half of the crew is ill in quarantine below deck. They are not contagious, of course; it is merely a precautionary measure. According to protocol they will remain below deck with the medic and guard detail until they are given clearance to leave. In the meantime, you have one hundred of my men and myself at your disposal."

He relaxed slightly. "Well, the guards will certainly appreciate the help."

"We don't need help!" Captian McGainey shouted as he strained against the binds, kicking futilely at the guards wrestling him into bed.

The doctor sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Please excuse his outbursts, Your Majesty; he is heavily medicated at the present moment." She joined the guards at the bedside, fastening more binds.

All things considered, Frederic was surprised they'd managed to keep this a secret from the Captain this long. Even more surprising was when the Captain burst into the throne room in his nightgown ranting about a foreign invasion, Stan, Pete, and the doctor trailing breathless behind him. To their credit the Gaian guards had taken the apparent madman in stride, gently restraining him and speaking softly to him in their broken English while the others escorted the citizens to the foyer.

"Captain, we've been shorthanded for months, even before the incident with the alchemist. Empress Aesari was very kind to send assistance."

The doctor pulled the straps tighter, leaving the captain gasping for breath like he was being corseted.

Frederic winced. "Previous incidents aside, are the restraints really necessary, doctor?"

"He's re-broken his ribs already, this is the third time I've had to replace the stitches, and he's already escaped the binds once."

"Damn the stitches, and damn the binds! It's unsolicited assistance! Isn't it –OW!"

"I told you to hold still, captain," the doctor all but growled.

"Isn't odd that we've never heard a word from them and suddenly they want to help? How did they even find out about this?"

"It seems she wishes to learn from her mother's mistakes. While I was surprised how fast word traveled, it wasn't exactly a secret. "

"Your Majesty," the doctor cut in, "could we perhaps continue this conversation later? Say after the Captain has recovered? His blood pressure…"

"There is nothing wrong with my blood pressure!"

"He won't rest until he's satisfied, Dr. Zephyr, best get it over with."

The doctor sighed. "What I would like to know is who told him about it in the first place?"

The guards at the door coughed, shuffling their feet. Well that was easy.

"It's a small fleet and we have them guarding prisoners and the castle so our guards can keep the streets under control. One hundred men are more than enough – "

"One hundred? You need at least two for a war galleon."

Damn. Drugged out of his mind and he managed to catch that, but the thought that shouting at the king in nightwear was inappropriate hadn't occurred to him?

"Yes, well, at the moment half of the crew seems to be in quarantine on the ship."

The restraints creaked in protest as the captain lunged as far as he could and nearly knocked the doctor over. "Quarantine? So they're here to start an epidemic?"

"Admiral Perrault assures me that the illness is merely due to contaminated supplies and the quarantine is a precautionary measure. Protocol, if you will."

"That's just great. A French admiral leading a Gaian fleet to take over Corona with the black plague and we all live in a house that Jack built."

Frederic raised an eyebrow to the doctor.

She shrugged. "I feel I must reiterate that he is heavily medicated at the moment, Sire. He has no idea what he's saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying, you old codger!"

Dr. Zephyr narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Frederic considered pointing out that she was the same age as the captain himself but decided against it.

"Teemah'Omgaia is a trusted ally. They're not here to take over the kingdom and they're certainly not going to be doing it from the dungeons."

"Be that as it…" his face fell. "The dungeons? Just who are they guarding?"

Fredric pinched the bridge of his nose. "The prisoners, McGainey. We've discussed this already."

"Not including the Alchemist?"

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I thought it would be better to have guards for him that didn't bear him any grudges, at least until it can be determined how to help him." Though how the child could possibly be helped was beyond him. Still, Quirin had been a dear friend. He wasn't about to let his son down again.

"So," The Captained laughed. "So the Princess dates a wanted criminal and suddenly it's safe to leave a child alone with sailors? Have you lost your mind or are you just hoping they'll kill the kid before he can go to trial? Poison would have been kinder."

"Okay," Dr. Zephyr snapped. "That's quite enough, Captain."

"I'll tell you when it's enough!"

"I think it's time for Michael to get some rest, don't you, Your Majesty?" she said through a forced smiled and gritted teeth.

"I don't need rest!"

Frederic nodded. "Yes, that would be for the best. We can continue this conversation later, captain."

"No offence, Sire, but he won't remember most of this when he wakes up."

She slipped the needle in McGainey's arm and within seconds his shouting turned to grumbled slurs before silencing altogether.

"Has he been like this the whole time, Doctor? I didn't think his injuries were that bad to begin with."

"He should have recovered by now but he keeps reinjuring himself trying to go back to work too soon, and his blood pressure is alarming to say the least. Last week he ripped his stitches out while hurling an omelet at the wall. That daughter of his deserves a medal for what he must put her through."

Frederic chuckled. "I'll make a note of it."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Cecil smiled as he stepped into the sunlight in the square, feeling the wind blow through his loose linen clothes. What a relief to finally be free of that stiff uniform. Although he had joined the navy to see the world, he hadn't seen much of anything outside of the court and his office in the past few years. When the Empress had first proposed this expedition he couldn't agree quickly enough. Aesari wanted to build relations that her ancestors had neglected for centuries and she hadn't wasted any time in implementing her plans - after spending her whole life with her ideas falling on deaf ears she finally had the court and the empire's full attention.

Though he wondered if the young Empress was right to send help that hadn't been asked for, he wasn't in a habit of questioning orders. He had Geneviève for that, and the poor soul was in quarantine back on the ship. It wasn't going to be easy keeping things under control without his right hand to back him up. But the officers could complain about babysitting duty all they wanted, he was going to enjoy this change of scenery as much as he could.

Cecil adjusted the strap of the bag over his shoulder, careful not to expose the indigo ink etched into his skin. He'd learned long ago that many Northerners had strange ideas about tattoos. He had to admit though, he hadn't been anywhere quite like Corona. It seemed vibrant and colorful and he could smell the sea from anywhere in the capital. He'd try some of the food today, maybe find gifts for his mother and sisters back home. He couldn't even begin to know what they'd like though; he hadn't seen them in years. He browsed along store windows, pausing by an elaborate display in a sweets shop. Candy at least would be a safe bet, if it survived the journey. Mama would want something more permanent though – maybe hair pins. As long as they were long and sharp enough to be weaponized she'd be happy. The sharp tang of fire and hot metal met him around the corner, a deep voice echoing over the clang of a hammer. A crowd of children gathered around the front of the forge, the man never taking his eyes off of his work as he spoke.

"… Her mother felt sorry for her and agreed to make her pancakes. But since they had no frying pan, she sent her to borrow one from Uncle Wolf…"

Uncle Wolf, huh? He hadn't heard this tale before. Smiling, he leaned against the building, taking out his book and pen. Cecil wrote the story word for word, chuckling at the children's reactions to the young heroine's demise.

"What? That can't be how it ends!"

The blacksmith shrugged. "I'm afraid it is. Go along now, I'm sure your parents are looking for you." the children ran along, a few of the younger ones pausing to gape at Cecil before being dragged off by the older ones. Apparently his clothes didn't blend in as well as he'd hoped.

"I must admit, my audience usually stops at the age of twelve." The blacksmith commented.

Cecil's eyes widened, suddenly frozen. Stars, had he offended him? "Uh, my apologies sir, I did not mean to intrude."

The old man smiled though, shaking his head. "No, think nothing of it. It's a shame how no one has time for old legends anymore. You're with the Gaian fleet, yes?"

Cecil relaxed. "Yes, we just arrived two days ago. Admiral Cecil Perrault, at your service, sir."

"Xavier. How do you like our kingdom so far?"

"Oh it's beautiful. I'd like to see the countryside as well, though I doubt I'll have the time. It will take some time to explore the capital, perhaps more time than I have."

"Well, I can make some recommendations but finding it on your own can be half the adventure."

Cecil chuckled sadly. "As much as I'd love to discover this kingdom on my own, I'm afraid the only adventures I have time for any more are on ink and paper."

Xavier set down his tools, wiping his hands off on his apron. "Well that's a shame; you're far too young to be out of time already. May I?"

Cecil handed him the leather-bound journal, carefully avoiding Xavier's hands with the fresh ink staining his own fingers.

The old man hummed while leafing through the pages. "This is quite a collection. Have you been to all these places?"

"Not in this volume. Back when I was an ensign sailing the world I'd spend all the free time I had collecting local tales and cataloging them. These days the only new stories I find are from new recruits from different countries or the fishermen in the market."

"Well, you are in luck then, Corona has many legends you won't have heard anywhere else. Have you heard of Zhan Tiri?"

"I can't say I have."

"Well, have a seat then." he pulled two chairs out for them, handing Cecil back his journal while he began the tale of a sorcerer, who, being desperate for power, enslaved familiars and spirits until he was deformed by their magic and lost his own soul in the process.

"Lost or paid?" Cecil asked.

"I could not tell you. Either way his familiars began regarding him as their leader and many joined willingly. He should have been happy with what he had; after all he had achieved his dream. But he was not human enough to be happy anymore, all he knew was rage and longing. He set his sights on Corona and that is when the trouble began."

Church bells broke through the din of the city, marking the hour at five. Was it really so late already?

Cecil sighed, closing up his book. "I'm afraid I must be getting back to the castle before the shift change starts. Not all of my sailors speak English and I'm without my right hand at the moment." Though he was sure more of them spoke English then they let on - to some of them the only redeeming quality of this expedition was the chance to gaslight Northerners.

"I understand." Xavier said. "You're welcome back anytime. Maybe you'll have some tales I haven't heard."

Perrault grinned. "I'll take that as a challenge."

Cecil had underestimated the amount of paperwork they went through every day for a simple diplomacy mission. His work alone was staggering, but with the duties and reports of the Commander and Captain he hadn't left his desk in days. If he didn't know better he'd say that Geneviève had poisoned the tea on purpose to get out of paperwork. He wouldn't put it past her to do that to herself, but half the crew? No, this was just bad luck.

"Sir?"

Cecil glanced up from his log book. Emile's voice was uncertain, timid even. He'd never known the man to worry about anything, something Cecil had always seen as a lack of good sense rather than bravery.

"Yes, what is it, Quialnys?"

"It's the prisoner, sir. He's not eating."

He sat up straight, his pen clattering to the paper.

"The boy?"

Emile nodded. "I've asked the others, he hasn't eaten in days, possibly at all since we got here. He only sips water. I wouldn't even mention it but he's just a kid and I've got a sister his age…"

"As do I." he closed the log book, replacing the pen in its case. "You were right to mention it. He is being adequately cared for?"

Emile shrugged. "They give him plenty of food, sir. I mean, it's fresh but it's still prison food. What do we do?"

"Everyone else carry on as planned for the time being. You and I are going to find the kitchen." He stood and left, Emile rushing after him down the hall.

"The kitchen sir? Is that allowed?"

"If it isn't I will take the blame for it. Truthfully I don't much care." He was sworn to serve honorably and there was nothing honorable about letting a child starve, regardless of their crimes. As for the workload, Ordannis and Alika could help him with the paperwork if it came down to it. Now if they could just find the kitchen…

"Ah, here we are." He pushed the wide double doors open, smoke and steam hitting them head on.

The kitchen staff froze where they were, staring bewildered at the intruders as they passed, one man poised with a cleaver over the neck of a chicken who seemed as perplexed as any of them. Cecil nodded shallow bows to them as he passed. "Good afternoon, ladies. Gentlemen. Please excuse us, we won't be a moment."

He removed his jacket and found a vacant work station, the glaring silence of the kitchen interrupted by the now escaping chicken.

"Now, Emile, what would you suggest for our young friend?"

Emile tore his gaze away scene unfolding behind them to focus on the moment at hand. "He hasn't eaten in a while, sir, so nothing to heavy or he won't be able to keep it down. But it would have to smell good enough to entice him to eat."

"I know just the thing then." he turned to one of the maids as she rushed by with a rolling pin. "Pardon me, Madame, but where would I find the rice?"

Nio came back to the barracks that evening looking resigned. "Well, he took a few bites anyway. That's a start." A collective sigh sounded around the room.

Herbert shook his head as he continued crocheting. "Maybe that's all he could stomach. He's so thin I could label his vertebrae on sight."

"He might not be used to our food either." Ordannis said gently. "If we knew his favorite food that would help."

Alika glared over the pillow in his arms from his spot on the floor. "He won't speak to us, how we are supposed to help him?"

"We'll try soup tomorrow." Cecil cut in. "He should be able to stomach that at least. Herbert, Nio, I trust neither of you mind using some of your free time to cook?

"No, sir." They replied. He smiled. For all their complaining of 'babysitting duty' they didn't seem to mind actual babysitting, at least with an actual child.

Cecil stood and bowed. "Thank you. In the meantime, I have some research to do."

"Hello, friend." Cecil called.

Xavier glanced up from his work smiling. "Perrault! How are you faring? Back for more tales?"

"Actually, I was hoping you could give me some recipes. Particularly from a region called 'old Corona'? Any local dishes really."

"Getting your fill of our culture then?"

"Trying to fill a stubborn prisoner before he wastes away."

Xavier raised an eyebrow, wiping his hands on his apron. "Well I have a few, and I can collect more if you need. I'm surprised that you care that much."

"Well there are," he paused, unsure of the word. "Special circumstances at play."

"I'd be happy to help you, friend, in exchange for some recipes of your own."

It was useless, Varian couldn't do anything in here. Not without his lab, not when he was only working with half the equation, if that much. Maybe whatever was awaiting the princess at the end of the road had the answers. If he hadn't, no _,_ if _she_ hadn't. Her kept promises would have left him free to go with them, to find the answers. Dad could've gone with them as a guard or a guide. Varian sighed. Quirin would never have abandoned the villagers nor let his son go without him. Not that that would have stopped him. He'd have been days away before dad even realized Varian was missing – he never even knew about most of Varian's inventions until they blew up.

Now there were strange guards staring at him like he was a zoo animal that was probably sleeping but there was a good chance it was dead.

The guards had been so silent the first few days he didn't even think they spoke English at all until one asked why he wasn't eating. He didn't answer, made no sign that he had even heard him. So what, he was supposed to believe someone cared? It became a game, how long he could go on ignoring them. He nearly lost when one of them woke him up with a bugle of all things.

"So you can hear. Good, because I could not find a single book on sign language in the whole city."

He raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing.

Bugle Boy sighed, running a hand over a head of the darkest skin Varian had ever seen.

"I'd ask if you were mute, but obviously that won't work." He sat down, taking up the instrument again. "Any requests? I might not know it, but I can play by ear if you hum."

Varian turned away.

"Suit yourself, kid. Let me know if you change your mind."

The man leaned back into his chair, playing a sorrowful tune on his horn. Well there were worse ways to spend his imprisonment. Music would be a nice change of pace from walking circles in his mind and glaring a hole in the floor. He'd have to learn this song somehow, make a machine to play it for him while he burned Corona to the ground. That would be all Rapunzel would find among the ashes when she returned. He'd be waiting for the amber to melt away or find a way to do it himself if she failed. Somehow he didn't doubt her in her quest – not when her home was at stake now.

Either way there would be no one left to stop him from freeing his father, and the two of them would be long gone before the Princess got back.

The music came to a shrieking halt, a sharp rapping on the door pulling the guard to his feet as he saluted with his free hand.

A man entered with a dark blue jacket studded with silver buttons worn over the same uniform the rest of the guards wore. The captain? He smiled at the bugler, his voice soft as he spoke in an unfamiliar language. No, definitely not a captain.

Buttons turned towards the cell as a third man entered, sandy blond hair blending into a sandy complexion.

"Good evening, Varian, was it? I am Admiral Perrault. My sailors have brought it to my attention that you have not been eating. For the sake of your health we must remedy that." Sandy stepped forward, presenting a steaming tray. "This is Frank. He has, undoubtedly, the worst singing voice I have ever heard. He will serenade you until you finish your meal."

"You have got to be kidding me." Varian deadpanned.

Bugle Boy and Sandy grinned, nudging each other while Buttons continued on like he hadn't noticed. "No, it really is terrible. I have made sure it was a small portion so you will not become ill. If you have any food requests, do let Frank or any of us know. Good night, child."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Frank came into the bunk that night grinning ear to ear.

"He ate the whole thing, sir, just like I said he would."

A few sighed in relief, while others laughed.

"Finally, a good use for that voice of yours."

"Can't say I blame him, I'd eat a sea worm if I thought it would make you stop that caterwauling."

"I threw him overboard once, just to make him stop."

"Good work, Frank." Perrault said.

Frank nodded. "Worked on my kid brother every time."

Cecil stood, raising a hand for attention. "I will be taking the midday shift for a while to thank you all for using your free time to cook for our young friend. I will do the cooking tomorrow as well. If anyone has any recipes they want to share feel free to jot them down for me. Oh, and someone check up on Geneviève and the ladies on deck and see how they are faring. If they are not well soon I'll have to send them ashore for further medical attention."

"Enough singing! I ate breakfast, what do you want from me?" Varian shouted at the sound of his approach. Cecil entered the room, with a folding table and chair over one hip and a tray balanced on the other.

"It's only me, child. Though I am glad you and Frank are getting along so well. I made this meal myself; do tell me if I got it right. Frank will be summoned if you refuse to eat, though."

He slid the tray through the slot and set the table up facing the young man's cell before lighting the lantern and rolling out his writing set. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the boy stared longingly at the plate. Was he still full from earlier? This self-imposed starvation must have started earlier than they'd thought. Varian had been imprisoned for a month at this point; how long could a boy his size last without food? More disturbingly, had the boy been trying to find that out for himself? They'd have to keep a close eye on him while they could.

Cecil shook his head, going back to the work at hand. He had finished the bulk of his paperwork earlier that day, at the moment he had seven sisters waiting for seven letters.

It was cool in the dungeon for such a warm day; hot for Corona, judging by the complaints of the castle staff. Back at home people would be rejoicing at the mild temperature. The ensigns were confused at the situation; some of the younger ones had apparently shipped off thinking they were being sent to an arid wasteland when they heard how far north Corona was. When he left the barracks that morning Ordannis had been trying to explain to a few that the temperature actually went _down_ after going north past a certain point.

If this was considered hot then it was probably comfortable enough in the dungeon, but Cecil wrote a note to himself in his ledger to make sure the child had enough blankets at night just in case. The scratch of the pen filled the cell, the prisoner so quiet Cecil found himself glancing up just to make sure he was still there. Varian was starting to get color back at least, though he still looked like death.

Three hours later Cecil finally got to the last letter, finding himself at a loss of what to write. Tivita would be Varian's age by now; she'd been a toddler when he saw her last. Mama would be planning her youngest daughter's rite of passage soon, inviting the whole clan to the mountain estate to see her off. Maybe he'd actually be invited - maybe he'd actually go. The town bells chimed three. He stretched, looking up at Varian again. "Have you finished? Try to drink the juice if you can. You'll have to increase your fluid intake as well."

"Why?"

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You need to stay hydrated and this should help supplement your calorie intake until your body has readjusted to—"

"Why do you care?" Varian spat, treble rising. "Don't you know who I am? What I've done?"

"The mad alchemist? Yes, you'll have to tell me about that someday. It is not often one gets to hear the story from the antagonists themselves."

"So that's it?" He demanded, gesturing wildly around the cell. "Come stare at the screw up, get rich writing his failures?"

"Oh I'm already well off enough. I don't sell stories, just collect them. While I would love to hear the tale from you yourself, I don't particularly care if you tell me or not. It's your story to do with as you please."

Varian glared, arms crossed over his chest. "Then what's your angle?"

Cecil shrugged. "You need help, I want to help you."

"I don't want your help."

"That's a shame, because you have it regardless." He gestured to the plate in the boy's lap. "Try to finish it if you can."

Prince Varian started each time he caught his reflection in a frosted window, his gold hair hanging heavily on his tall lanky frame while a storm raged outside the palace.

'Fidella, where's mom and dad?'

There was something inherently wrong about all of this, though he couldn't explain what. Cassandra's gray eyes were far too soft as she took his hand before leading the thugs out into the cold, her sword in one hand and Lance's ear in her other as she dragged her brother along.

'It's alright, Blondie, we'll save them. We owe them that much.'

Eugene's hand landed on his shoulder, his face somehow looking too young behind his glasses. "Don't worry, kiddo, if anyone can save them it's Cassandra."

"Eugene," His own voice sounded wrong to his ears, far too deep. "Doesn't this all seem, _wrong_ to you?"

The older man shrugged. "I mean it's a little early for snow but you'll have that. That Zhan Tiri's curse thing is just a fairy tale."

He shook his head. "No, I mean—"

"Prince Varian!" a small voice cried out over the din of the castle.

"Rapunzel?"

The young girl rushed to him, grabbing him by the shoulders, her blue black hair falling over her eyes.

"Varian! Your majesty, please, we have to hurry. Dad's in trouble!"

Something is wrong.

But the young alchemist was the same way she'd been yesterday when she confided in him that Frederic had been lying about the rocks.

"Rapunzel, what are…?"

"The rocks are encasing him, we have to hurry!"

Wrong.

The wind outside beat viciously at the window panes, shutters cracking in the cold.

"Encasing? Rap—"

"Please, there's no time!"

Nigel slammed his palms on the table. "Your Majesty, we must evacuate the island immediately. You can't leave now!"

Tears stung his eyes. "Rapunzel, I can't. I can't go now."

"B-but you promised!"

Zhan Tiri's curse waits for Corona to be at its weakest – this would never have happened if dad were here instead of him. THIS ISN'T RIGHT.

The guards dragged the child away as she screamed. "Varian! You promised!"

"Vaaarriiiannnn!" Warble called in a singsong voice that could only be described as a strangled yodel. "Time to wake uuuuppppp!"

Varian sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes like he could wipe away the last dregs of that dream. The smell of snow burned into his nostrils, slowly being replaced by the spicy sweet scent of breakfast. As much as he hated to admit it, the Gaian guards were great cooks, though everything they made was spicier than he was used to. That had to be the source of these strange dreams, all this spicy food was messing with his mind. Warble slid a tray through the slot in the bars, a steaming bowl waiting by a small vase of flowers.

"Any requests, Ottalno?"

"Get me out of here."

The man grinned. "Anything else?"

"Leave me alone." He rolled over on the cot, his back to the man.

Warble sighed. "Very well. The wind was a torrent of darkness, Among the guuusty trees, the mooooon was a ghostly galleon—"

Varian rolled his eyes _. Here we see the Sandy billed Warbler outside of his natural habitat. An invasive species that drives natives to self-extinction with its shrieking cry._ He pulled himself to his feet and went to investigate the bowl on the tray. Sweet potatoes, rice, fish and some kind of fruit he didn't recognize. Still, better than gruel. He purposefully took a bite, glaring at the sandy haired guard as he ate until the singing died down to humming.

A knock came on the door; Warble stopped humming all together to answer. Varian froze for a moment, afraid it's Bugle Boy showing up for a musical accompaniment. But he didn't recognize the rusty haired guard outside the door. They spoke to each other in hushed tones in a foreign tongue before Warble turned back to him, smiling.

"It seems I am needed elsewhere, Ottalno. Pennen will take over for a time and he is excited to meet you. Mind your language now, child."

The man approached, holding a book.

"'Ello, Ottalno. Pennen will read now, yes? Practice English speaking. Pennen read, Ottalno listen."

Varian rolled his eyes, laying back in his cot with the breakfast bowl. He would have preferred bugle boy. A paragraph into the man's halted English, Varian realized the man was reading a scientific journal. A new one at that; he'd been looking forward to this one for months, ever since the author announced his thesis statement. Had it been that long already?

Varian found himself on the edge of his seat, helping the man with his pronunciation when he stumbled.

Pennen's face fell when Sandy came to collect him for the end of their shift.

"Tomorrow, Ottalno?"

Varian coached his face into a hard line as he shrugged. "Not like I'm going anywhere."

"He's talking more." Ordannis said.

"Oh?" Cecil spoke to the man's reflection in the mirror of his private room while he tried taming his hair. It was going to rain soon if the frizz was any indication.

"Yes," Ordannis chuckled. "Our Ottalno calls me all sorts of names that would make Felicie blush."

Cecil shook his head, knocking the comb to the vanity. "That sounds about right. Are you sure you can handle the troops today?"

"Aye, sir, you go enjoy some sun. Oh, the doctor said the ladies will be clear for duty in two days."

"Excellent. I hope the men have enjoyed their freedom while Geneviève was gone." He'd finally get some proper time to himself with his Captain and Commander back.

Ordannis shook his head. "I'm more worried about the men of Corona, sir. They've never met a Teemah'No woman before, and we're releasing one hundred of them into their capital city. They won't know what hit them."

"You're making it sound like the running of the bulls. They know how to behave themselves." He sighed inwardly at his reflection. Maybe he'd get less attention on the streets if he left his ear cuffs behind.

"Aye, they do. But northern men, they are not always, what is the word… respectful, of answers they don't want to hear."

"Well, then that is their problem. If they cannot respect a soft 'no', then they will fear a harsh 'never'." Maybe Ordannis had the right idea shaving his head. He gave up, finally sliding the orangewood pin through the leather clasp in his hair.

"If they fail to do that, sir?"

He smirked, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Then I believe the phrase Geneviève would use is, 'I will see you in hell.'"

He'd meant to tour the capital more today, maybe try that pub just out of town that Stan and Pete had recommended. Something about a duck? Nothing in the shops seemed right for his sisters, even the famed lanterns of Corona were sold out for the year. Soon he found himself in front of the blacksmiths shop, hesitating. Surely Xavier was too busy for company this early in the day? No, he'd tell him if he was. At the very least he could get the old man's opinion on gifts for his sisters.

"Hello again, friend."

"Perrault! You're right on time; I was just setting up for lunch."

Xavier set the kettle down on the makeshift table.

"So, how did Varian like the meal?" the old man asked.

"How…?"

"I had a feeling that if there was any prisoner you'd be concerned about enough to go to all that trouble for, it would be Varian."

"He seemed to love it, though he didn't say as much. He doesn't say much of anything, unless it's insults. But he's eating again, and looking better every day."

"Good. Now, it's your turn to start the stories."

Cecil started a story of the mighty Maui and his quest for immortality, only to be surprised when Xavier finished the last lines of the story along with him.

"You could have stopped me sooner." Cecil chuckled, shaking his head. Disappointing, but not surprising. He was fairly certain the blacksmith had traveled farther than he ever would.

Xavier laughed at his crestfallen expression. "Ah, but I haven't heard that one in years; and you tell it so much better than I do, friend. More tea?"

"Yes, please." Xiavier stood, putting the kettle back on. Cecil sat in silence for a while, staring into his empty cup.

"Did you know him?" Cecil finally asked.

"Know him? You mean Varian?" Xavier sighed. "Yes, I knew him. Though maybe not as well as I thought I did."

"What was he like? Surely he hasn't always been..." he shrugged, his English failing him. "Like that."

The older man sat back down, pouring more tea. "I've known him his whole life. I was at his christening, you know. I'm still shocked his parents made that trip with a baby in the snow, but his mother was a stubborn one. She became ill and died a few months later and his father never remarried."

"He had no relatives to help?" Cecil asked softly.

Xavier shook his head, eyes downcast. "They had moved to Corona shortly before Varian was born. He said his son was the only family he had left."

He swallowed. "Raising a child alone cannot be easy."

"No, it certainly wasn't. Varian didn't make it easy either, poor child. He was such a good boy, so bright and full of life. As soon as he could talk he was just bursting with questions. I'm not sure how he discovered alchemy but since he was five that was all he could talk about, that and his books. But he never fit in with kids his own age and the adults were convinced he was doing some kind of witchcraft with his machines and potions that so often ended in disaster. I don't think he ever really had any friends. He wanted to help people, always going on about changing the world."

"So what went wrong?" he asked, dread filling his stomach over a story that had already played out.

"He made friends. The first friends he'd ever had and when he needed them most they couldn't help. As a result his father died. That's all I know for sure, anything else you'd have to get from Varian himself."

"I'll ask him, if he can stop sneering at the guards long enough to form a polite sentence. Getting him to eat was enough of a battle."

Xavier nodded sadly. "You know, a few years ago I approached his father about an apprenticeship. Varian's machines really were remarkable, even if they didn't always work. He seemed so lonely in Old Corona I thought a change of scene and some new direction would help him. Maybe if he could learn to pace himself he'd have been able to get better results."

"His father refused?"

"Wouldn't hear of it. I brought it up every now and then but I don't think his age would have made a difference. Raising his son was hard, but letting him go would have been too much."

Cecil stared into his empty cup, looking for ships and shores in the tea leaves but seeing only a waning gibbous.

"You've gone somewhere, my friend."

"Yes, I've just realized I have a letter to write." He stood, handing Xavier his cup.

"Thank you, friend, same time next week?"

"I'll be here. Maybe you can actually manage to stump me then."

"Always up for the challenge."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The admiral sighed, leafing through a stack of papers in his makeshift office in the dungeon.

"You know, I'd been so looking forward to having the whole crew again that it never even occurred to me that I'd have to rewrite the whole schedule from scratch. They won't know what to do with all this free time." He glanced out the window at the darkening sky. "Though if the weather keeps in this direction they'll be stuck indoors for a week and I'll have a mutiny at best or bodies to send home and an international incident at worst."

Varian smirked, taking a bite of food. "Love the optimism, Buttons. Always look on the bright side."

Perrault raised an eyebrow at the nickname.

"Hey," Varian continued. "Maybe they'll get the plague. Close quarters like this, it'd cover the capital in a week. Everyone would die, I'd have my revenge, and you won't have to schedule. Problem solved."

Buttons shook his head. "Either you have great confidence in your own immune system, or we need to start keeping sharp objects and ropes far away from you."

"Last resort, Buttons, I assure you. Nothing to worry about there, you're stuck with me."

"Good, now eat up before it gets cold."

"Yes, Da—" Varian stopped, feeling like he'd just swallowed his heart. It was just a joke, one he'd used on the king. It felt wrong now, when he wasn't the one in control. Suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore. He pushed his tray aside, glancing up furtively to see if Buttons had noticed. But his captor had already returned his attention to his work. Of course he wouldn't have noticed - the man was practically an automaton, either set on fussing over prisoners or paperwork.

By the looks of it his programming was malfunctioning. His brows furrowed as he wrote, a hand tangling itself in his hair, shoulders tensing. He scowled in concentration, line after line was blotted out and scratched through until the pen tore through the blackened page, then crumbled and tossed aside. Varian counted five pages before he spoke up.

"You could use a pencil, you know."

Perrault jumped at the sound of his voice. "Hmm?"

Varian rolled his eyes. "A pencil, they're erasable so you wouldn't go through so much paper."

He paused, blinking in confusion before realization suddenly crossed his face. "Ah. No, graphite smears too badly and it fades. Thank you for the suggestion, though." So his English wasn't as good as he let on, and he wasn't the rock everyone made him out to be. That or his programming couldn't account for the unexpected. Maybe he could be cracked.

"What kind of schedule are you writing there?"

"Oh, I've given up on that for now. At the moment I'm writing a rather difficult letter that will have to wait another day, it seems."

Varian nodded, considering. "It's too bad, you know. I could make you erasable ink no problem."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I can even think of the formula now." His fingers started drumming on the bowl despite himself. It really was a simple formula, one that would have saved Dad trouble when balancing books. A small risk that could have had a big payoff— no, focus. "Nonhazardous, permanent and wouldn't smear, but it'd have a special eraser. It'd take a few hours tops."

Buttons smiled in astonishment. "Could you truly?"

"I mean I could, if I had my equipment and a few of my chemicals. I wish I could help you but…" he gestured around the cell, nodding at the heavy locks on the door.

The man hummed, leaning back in his chair. "I suppose it wouldn't be too hard to bring your equipment here. You could even list which chemicals you need."

Varian glanced at the floor, shrugging. "Well, if it's not too much trouble for you."

The admiral looked around the room, studying the layout. "The fumes would be a problem, I'd imagine. We'd have to take you outside to work, or at the very least find a room with a bigger window."

"O-oh yeah, definitely." He could hardly contain himself. Outside? Even a bigger window was more than he could've hoped for.

He glanced at the door, lowering his voice and gesturing for Varian to do the same. "We should keep this quiet, we wouldn't want the Captain of the Guard finding out and getting out of bed rest for nothing."

"Yeah, he wouldn't get it." he schooled his expression into what he hoped was sincere concern. _Don't blow this, Varian._

"Wonderful!" Cecil stood, gathering up his papers and heading for the door. "I'll get Frank right on that. Just one more question."

Varian jumped to his feet, gripping the bars. "Yeah?"

The admiral's wonderstruck expression morphed into an amused smirk. "How stupid do you think I am?"

Varian's face fell. "I- I don't know what you are talking about."

Cecil chuckled. "Child, I have seven sisters. Did you really think I'd fall for that?"

Varian slammed his fists into the bars. "I am not a child!"

Perrault nodded slowly. "No, not quite. But then, you're not a man yet either. That's okay, though, you're still learning. You'll get there; it's the waiting that's the hard part."

Varian let out a bitter laugh, tears stinging his eyes. "Waiting. You know what I'm waiting for? My chance to escape. One day I'm going to get out of here and when I do, I'm going to burn this city to the ground."

He didn't know what he'd been expecting from the admiral, but that look of hurt and pity wasn't it.

"Well, good luck with that." Cecil glanced at his watch. "It seems my replacement will be coming soon."

The admiral began packing up in earnest now, ink wells in their cases and dirty dishes back on the tray. This man wasn't human, whatever he was. What did he have to do to get a reaction out of him, other than that infuriating half smile?

"Good job, by the way," Perrault said suddenly. "You nearly finished your food. I know that wasn't easy for you. If you can't finish dinner when the time comes just tell the next guard, he'll understand. Good night, Varian, see you tomorrow."

Varian could feel his blood start to boil, his hands shaking by his sides. How dare they pity him? He didn't need pity; it was too late for help. These foreign sailors were the same as everyone else in Corona. Patronizing, underestimating, fear, ridicule, ' _why can't you just be normal?'_

He finally managed to show them what he was capable of and _now_ someone wanted to help? Like hot meals and blankets would make up for what they'd done while Quirin—

Varian screamed, beating his fists into the bars over and over. Blood welled up inside his gloves as his voice became ragged. His knees gave out from under him, voices swimming around him.

"Varian? Are you well, Ottalno?"

He laughed again. He hadn't been well in a long time.

Geneviève groaned, leaning back into the chair. " _Merde_ , I thought that would never end. All of that over some spoiled tea."

Cecil nodded as he twisted her wooly hair into sections, sleeking it down with oil as he went. Her color was still ashen from the ordeal but the fire was back in her eyes.

"Félicie and I have gone over the schedule with the ladies and they are all eager to get back to work. But it is curious, brother; you are still on guard duty despite having two hundred sailors at your disposal now. Odder still, your only charge is the prisoner in solitary confinement. Ordannis, he says you have not even been to the lower levels of the dungeon."

He pulled the comb through a new section a little harder than necessary, ignoring her indignant glare in the mirror. "Of course I have, the king himself gave me a tour of the whole castle when we arrived."

"Oh, Ottalno." She sighed, her face softening. "You know you cannot save him."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Captain."

She laughed. "Captain now, am I? Well, Admiral, I believe you know exactly what I am talking about. You have a big heart, but you can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved."

He sighed, setting down the comb. "I've got to try."

"Anything else today, Nigel?" Arianna stifled a sigh at her husband's question. She'd known what she was getting into when she married him, well aware that the two of them would spend the rest of their lives putting the kingdom first in everything. But for heaven's sake, couldn't they eat dinner in peace?

Nigel winced as he leafed through his papers, avoiding eye contact.

"Not officially, but I had noticed something of concern. It's the Gaian fleet, Your Majesty."

Fredric raised an eyebrow at the man. "Are they behaving inappropriately?"

"No, not per say. It's just, that is, they seem to be… cooking."

"Cooking." He deadpanned.

Nigel straightened, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "My sources say that the Gaian guards noticed the Alchemist, Varian, wasn't eating. So they've brought it on themselves to cook his meals to try and coax him to eat."

"Have you mentioned it to the admiral?"

His nostrils flared, pressing his lips into a hard line. "Admiral Perrault himself seems to be heading the project. I ran into him in the kitchens just this morning."

"Are they bothering the staff?" Fredric asked carefully.

"No," Nigel relented. "The staff all seems to adore them."

They exchanged confused glances across the table. Was there a precedent for this sort of thing? Was this one of those culture shocks they'd been trying to prepare for?

Frederic cleared his throat. "Well, this is unusual but just keep an eye on them for the time being."

"While we are on the subject, Nigel," Arianna cut in. "Why were we not informed of Varian starving himself?"

Nigel shrugged. "Our men swear they had no idea, My Queen."

"They didn't notice the untouched food at the end of the day?"

"That is their claim. They have been stretched thin, so I'm inclined to believe them. All of this assuming the Gaian's are being truthful."

Frederic sighed. "Have Dr. Zephyr examine the boy in the morning, look for any signs of malnutrition or abuse. Thank you, Nigel, that will be all for now."

Nigel bowed and left.

Frederic rubbed his forehead, slouching over the table. "What do you think, Arianna?"

"Maybe this is a good thing. We have no idea how to help him, maybe they can."

"Can we trust them, though? Don't forget, the empress sent a fully armed war vessel a month after the Alchemist's attack. Now they've taken interest in him when he's sworn vengeance? I want to help the boy, Arianna, you know that. I want to trust my allies too, but I've never even met Lynnima, let alone Aesari."

She pressed her lips together in thought. "How about this, Perrault's commanding officers are out of quarantine; invite them to dinner so we can meet them. I'm sure you can get an idea of their character then."

He offered a tired smiled. "That sounds like a Rapunzel idea."

"Well, she's a smart girl, Fred. She had to get it from somewhere."

Fredric nodded in agreement before realizing his mistake. "Really, Arianna?"

"You see, dear, I told you that you needed more sleep."

Arianna found herself waiting outside the kitchens the next morning. A dinner might be helpful, but she wanted to see the man for herself. People tended to be more themselves around her if she caught them by surprise – less time to prepare. She didn't want to worry Fred more than he already was, but there was a child involved. The door opened, the young officer backing out with a steaming tray just as Nigel predicted.

"Good morning, Admiral."

The man jumped and spun around, nearly dropping the tray in his hands. "Your Majesty? Ah, good morning. My apologies, I did not expect to see you. May I be of assistance?"

"Perhaps you can. I haven't practiced French in some time and I'd like to brush up."

He blinked in confusion. "Uh, _Oui_ , of course, Your Majesty. I was just on my way back to the barracks; please allow me to pass this to an officer."

She smiled gently. "No need, I'll accompany you."

He hesitated but offered no protest, bowing his head in consent. He slowed his pace to accommodate eye contact as they went, clearing his throat.

" _Comment se passe ta journée ta majesté_?"

" _Merveilleux, merci_." She wasn't expecting much of a conversation, but before she knew it they were talking about the French Quarters in Teemah'Omgaia and comparing places they both had visited.

"How is Varian doing?" She finally asked. He didn't seem surprised, she was beginning to think nothing could rattle the man.

He nodded slowly, considering. "Better, I think. He is eating willingly, his color is returning, and he does not curse and threaten the guards as often. He hardly sleeps, though, and when he does, he is wracked with nightmares."

Arianna remembered Varian that night in Old Corona, his heartache and rage driving him like it was all he had. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "How did you get him to eat in the first place?"

He chuckled. "One of our sailors is completely tone deaf. When Varian would not eat, he sings until the boy complies. When he is being exceptionally stubborn other Ensigns are called in for musical accompaniment – the accordion seems to be the most effective. It is juvenile, I will admit, but we were getting rather desperate."

She erupted into giggles, unable to picture something so ridiculous. Perrault seemed to be letting his guard down, his smile widening as he joined her. The servants in the hall were starting to stare, only egging on the giggle fit as Mrs. Crowley shooed them away. Arianna could imagine the gossip now, how the Queen was conversing with the envoy in a foreign language and cackling like a hyena. Finally their laughter died down, the halls now deafeningly silent.

"You know," she said, all mirth gone from her voice. "We were completely unaware of his condition. If we had, we would never have let it get so bad. We want to help him, but…"

"But how do you help someone when they don't want to be helped?" He finished. She turned to face him, caught completely off guard by how broken he sounded. The admiral stared down at the tray in his hands, unaware of her gaze. He was a lot younger than she'd realized before.

She smiled sadly, touching his arm. "At the moment, I'm just glad he's not alone anymore. That's all you can do, but maybe that's all he needs."

He offered her a grateful smile. She stopped at the door to the barracks, holding out an envelope to him.

"King Frederic and I would like you invite you and your commanding officers to dinner Sunday night. We would love to meet them."

He bowed as deeply as the tray would allow him. "Yes, of course, Your Majesty. Thank you."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Dr Zephyr straightened, removing her gloves. "Now, has anyone touched you in a way that made you uncomfortable?"

"You mean besides you, lady?" he shrieked as he scrambled back into his cot, holding his shirt as a shield. The doctor shook her head, clicking her tongue as she jotted down notes in her book.

"I understand this is unpleasant, Varian, but please cooperate. I am looking for signs of abuse."

"Abuse? You want to know about abuse try listening to Warble's lullabies every time you get the hiccups. That's not even abuse, that's torture."

She raised an eyebrow over her thick rimmed glasses. "Singing. Yes, I can see how that would be stressful."

Dad would have liked her, Varian thought. That no nonsense deadpan voice and stone set face would have suited the village leader just fine. Knowing dad they'd just be talking about crops and livestock the whole time.

Voices murmured outside the door, a familiar knock vibrated through the cell. Thank goodness, Buttons to the rescue.

"Almost done!" The doctor called out, shattering his hopes of escape. She continued cleaning her instruments, humming as she scratched more notes in her book.

"Anything you would like to tell me before I go, Varian?"

"I'd tell you to go to hell, but clearly you already have a timeshare there."

"Charming, I haven't heard that one before." She gave a curt nod towards his clothes, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "You may redress, I will tell the guards to give you a moment for privacy. Good day, Varian."

He growled in frustration as he redressed, the sound of the doctor's voice echoing back from just outside the door. From what he could hear, Buttons and his stooges were asking for her advice on exercise regimens for their captive charge. Exercise. He should have made up a story about Buttons planning some grand coup d'état. She might not have believed him but at least it would raise enough of an alarm to get him out of whatever exercise they were plotting for him.

A gentle knock on the door interrupted his silent fuming. "Are you decent, Ottalno?"

"Bite me!" he snapped as he struggled to find the arm hole of his shirt.

Buttons walked in with the bells chiming eleven like clockwork. A plate of food, his work station and a smile like nothing had happened; like Varian hadn't just been poked, prodded and probed by the castle physician just minutes ago.

"How are you feeling, Varian?"

He glared over his shoulder as he finally pulled his shirt back on.

"I brought a few cookies." the man continued. "Félicie suggested I try this recipe to reintroduce sugars into your diet and the doctor agreed. I also have some milk if you think you're up to it."

"I know you're up to something." He growled.

"Am I now?" Buttons asked like he was playing along with a child's game. Didn't he know what Varian was capable of? What did he have to do to be taken seriously?

Varian crossed his arms over his chest, an indignant tilt to his chin. "I don't know what, but I'm onto you."

A hint of a smile played at Button's face. "Well maybe you can use your magic to divine an answer, Alchemist."

"It's not magic!" Defenses rose instantly; he was familiar with the argument from people who think they know everything but declare his work trivial when it surpasses their comprehension.

"Really? You're not trying to spin straw into gold? Or create the philosophers stone?"

"It's lead, not straw, and transmutation is a real scientific theory, not some fairy tale!"

"Of course, fairy tales," he nodded as if finally understanding. "Like sun drops, moon beams, glowing hair and stalagmites tearing a kingdom apart to goad a young girl into following them. Utter nonsense. But lead becoming gold is completely feasible."

Heat rose to his face, fists clenched. "So, what, I don't want your cookies so you're going to make fun of me now?"

"Oh, I'm not mocking you – it really is a fascinating subject. I am merely pointing out that it's a big world and you should not be so quick to dismiss what you don't understand."

"Why not?" Varian scoffed. "It's what everyone else did to me."

Perrault raised his eyebrows, all mirth gone from his voice. "Does that make it right, then? Or was becoming the people who hurt you part of the plan?"

He raised an accusing finger, deflating as the words died on his lips. "You- you're trying to distract me. It's not going to work."

"Well while I'd love to hear what precisely it is I'm distracting you from, I do have work to do."

Varian glared at the guarding officer as he sunk to the floor. What could he possibly be up to? If the Gaian's needed a machine or a potion wouldn't they have come forward already? At this point he'd do anything in exchange for his freedom, he'd made that clear to the guards several times. No, this had Frederic and Rapunzel's names written all over it. A little bit of kindness and some cookies and he'd suddenly forgive them? Fat chance of that.

He took a tentative bite of a cookie before his eyes widened. Dad used to make these when he was little. The smell of ginger and molasses was always enough to lure him out of his lab when he got older, sometimes mysteriously appearing on his nightstand when he'd had a bad day.

Every bakery in Corona made these, but until now none had come close to Dad's. He started shoveling them down, dignity be damned. He had to get the recipe; even if he never got to bake again he had to have it. It was one of the many secrets Quirin had taken with him.

"Slowly now," Cecil chuckled. "You'll make yourself sick that way."

Varian rolled his eyes, gulping down milk before continuing with the treats. Cecil shook his head and returned to his work, heedless of Varian's glare burrowing into the admiral's head.

"Good morning, Varian."

Varian grunted in response, unmoving from where he lay curled in on himself on the floor. The morning sun was just creeping through the bars, what was Buttons doing here this early?

"I'm told you've been vomiting all night." he said gently, like Varian would break.

"Are you here to say 'I told you so'?" Varian croaked, his throat burning.

"Actually, I'm here with some ginger tea and chicken soup. Sit up, you need to get rehydrated."

Varian rolled his eyes, the very motion making his head throb. "Oh, just let me die."

Keys jangled and the cell door creaked open. "I believe that would be counter-productive. Now sit up."

Varian groaned loudly as he pushed himself up to sit leaning against the wall. Every inch of him ached like he'd been thrown from a horse.

"I think the bed would be more comfortable." Buttons commented.

"You haven't tried sleeping on it." Varian took the tray from him, grimacing at the food.

"Slow sips. Just eat what you can, okay? Try to eat but don't force it today."

Varian sighed as he carefully sipped the tea, still regarding the soup like it would bite him. At least it was getting the taste of vomit out of his mouth. The admiral set out his writing set again just outside the cell. The stacks of papers were missing today; the only paper he spotted was a single book.

"What are you always working on, anyway?"

Buttons shrugged. "Oh, it varies. Logs, reports, journaling, letters to home… at the moment I'm chronicling tales of the land. I've heard a few tales here that I haven't heard anywhere else and that is rather unusual."

"Why is that?" He blurted out before he could stop himself.

"You'll find versions of the same tale in many different countries. Most likely they started somewhere and changed as they traveled but finding the origin is the tricky part. For some reason the tales here have stayed here."

That was strange, he had to admit. Corona wasn't isolated to say the least, they always seemed to be hosting festivities for foreign relations, and ships left their ports every day. Logically, stories would travel with merchants as far as the goods went. Unless Buttons was lying – but why would he lie about something like that?

Varian shrugged. "Eh, nothing ever leaves Corona. Anyway, aren't you a little old for fairy tales?"

The admiral raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Aren't you a little young to be so cynical?"

"It's a waste of time." He sneered as he rose to his feet, instantly regretting it when his head began to spin. Varian swallowed the rising bile, regaining his bearings – with any luck Buttons didn't notice – and returned to his cot. "Dragons, trolls, and waaay too many princesses,"

"And what pastimes would you consider to be time well spent?"

"Science, math, medicine, literally anything else. What's the point of pretty words and pictures?"

"Some would argue that 'pretty words and pictures' are what makes us human."

"Logic and reasoning make us human; it's something animals don't have."

"I don't know about that; even a cat can count its kittens. Elephants are very intelligent and empathetic, and dolphins are smart enough to play tricks on sailors. Meanwhile, I have never seen any creature besides a human paint."

"Any idiot can paint and lie." He chuckled bitterly.

"I suppose you have a valid point, but I would hesitate to call fairy tales lies. There's more truth to them then you seem to realize. There's more to paintings than the paint."

He rolled his eyes, turning in his cot to face the wall. What did he know, anyway?

Cecil shook his head, sighing as he handed off the tray to an ensign. Heaven help him, that child would be the death of him, brooding like a wet hen. Was he like that at that age? He would have to write mama to apologize. Then again, at least Varian had a valid excuse for his behavior – more of an excuse than he'd had.

Voices echoed down the hall as he approached his room. Hadn't he locked the door? He loomed, hand on the hilt of his sword slowly opening the door.

"But what do I wear?" Félicie whined as she flung clothes onto the bed. Correction, onto his bed.

"What is going on in here?" He demanded.

The petite redhead jumped at the sound of his voice while Geneviève regarded him in the reflection of his vanity, twisting her braids into a bun. "We are deciding what to wear to dinner with the King, Ottalno. What does it look like?"

He took a steadying breath. "Allow me to rephrase that, Captain. Why are you in my room?"

Geneviève shrugged. "There is better light in here."

Félicie glanced between her commanding officers in mortification. "You told me we had permission, Captain!"

"What I said, Commander Odali, was that it would be fine." She nodded towards the small woman's reflection. "Now what about that blue one there?"

"Admiral, I am so sorry, I had no idea."

He sighed. "No harm done, Commander. If you ladies would be so kind as to take this elsewhere I would like to get some rest and… is that a ball gown?"

She scooped it up, face flushing red as her hair. "A-aye, sir."

"Why on earth would you bring a ball gown?"

"… In case they gave us medals, or threw us a ball."

He tried to hide a smile as Geneviève broke into snorting cackles.

"Semi-formal dress uniforms, ladies. There is a protocol for this."

"Tribe paint?" she asked with a hopeful tilt to her voice.

"No."

She wilted, listlessly gathering up her clothes from his bed.

Geneviève clapped her on her back. "Cheer up, Commander, you'll get your chance."

"At this rate I won't get to wear paint until my own wedding." She pouted. "Then I'll be the only one in my family to get married with only one stripe."

"You'll earn your stripes, Commander." He reaffirmed.

"Aye," The Captain agreed. "Maybe baby brother down the in dungeon will make good on his word and blow up the castle before we're done! Put him away after that and you'll get at least three stripes."

"Captain!" He snapped. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Aye, sir, it seems you are right. Let's go, Commander; the admiral needs his beauty rest. Maybe if we catch that rodent terrorizing the maids we'll all get half a stripe."

She hooked arms with Félicie and all but dragged her out of the room.

"Rodent?" he called after her.

"Yes," she called out over her shoulder. "The staff has been complaining about it, they asked the ensigns to keep an eye out. It takes an army of these men to stop a skinny child; I can't imagine how long this creature will haunt them if we don't do something."

He sunk down into the chair at the vanity. Somehow he felt that herding cats through Corona would have been easier than this diplomacy mission.

A rodent, huh?

Varian didn't know why it had taken him so long to think of it. Most inks were made from berries weren't they? Here he'd been staring at the ceiling bored for weeks and they'd been handing him writing materials by the bowlful.

He crushed the bimberries in his gloved hand, smearing an equation on the cell wall. Granted, it wasn't a perfect solution. It wasn't easy to write with, and juice was already drying in sticky patches all over himself but it was something. His vengeance could finally take shape.

"You've miscalculated." He jumped at the sound of the man's voice. Buttons stood by the door at attention, a thoughtful scowl on his face.

"What? No I didn't."

Buttons nodded as he stiffly approached, hands held behind his back.

"You've forgotten the cosine, and you didn't carry the nine. No, this won't work at all."

Varian looked frantically over his work, growling in frustration. Buttons was right. How the hell had he made such a simple mistake?

"Anyway, Varian it seems we have a problem. Perhaps you can help?"

He turned to face the man. No hello? No lunch? No stupid smile and fake pleasantries?

Varian crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. "You want _my_ help?"

The man nodded. "Yes, a pesky little creature keeps breaking in and almost seems to be looking for something. The staff are at a loss. Maybe you know what to do with it?"

He pulled the chubby raccoon out from behind his back, a cupcake stuffed in its tiny mouth.

"Ruddiger!"

The animal leapt from Cecil's grasp, flinging itself through the bars and into Varian's arms.

"I missed you, buddy! Where have you been?"

The creature climbed over the boy, chirping excitedly around the cupcake before taking said cupcake and attempting to shove it in his master's mouth.

"Oh gross! Ruddy, stop, I don't want it!" he laughed, holding the struggling animal at arm's length.

"Perfect, someone else to get you to eat." Cecil chuckled. "I'd commend him on his intelligence but he was looking for you in a teapot."

The raccoon had broken free of Varian's grasp and was now smearing the frosting all over his face. He couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm just some kind of big raccoon."

"With those bags under your eyes you're starting to look like one."

"Hey, you try sleeping on these beds." He wiped the frosting off his cheek while Ruddiger fingered through his hair. "The guards chased him away when I was being transferred. How did you know he was mine? How did you even catch him?"

"A friend in town mentioned that you had a raccoon and when I heard about the staffs complains I made the connection. A trap was easy enough to make."

Varian narrowed his eyes at the man, shielding Ruddiger like he'd be taken away again. "Why are you doing this? Did the Queen send you? The King?"

"We're here on his orders if that's what you're asking."

"The food, bringing me Ruddiger, the blankets, the tea?" His throat grew tight. "And you guys listen to me. Dad didn't even… _no one_ listens to me."

"You need help," he said firmly. "I want to help you. _We_ want to help you. However, I must warn you, if you try using him to escape he'll get his own cell."

He crouched to his eyelevel. "I'm trusting you, Varian."

The man would regret that decision; everyone else did.

"Now, while you two catch up I'll have the ensigns bring some clean clothes and some towels and basins. Lunch will be a little late today."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to find some chalk. Really child, if you were that bored all you had to do was ask."

"I'm beginning to think it's possible to die of boredom." Varian sighed.

Cecil hummed noncommittally, continuing with his work. The sky had opened up days ago, drowning out the sun. Most of the sailors were off helping the Corona guards clear storm drains. He'd been confined to the castle with a small security detail while Geneviève and Félicie coordinated flood prevention and rescue efforts. He had actually run out of paperwork to do, and by the look of it Varian was going mad waiting for Pennen to return with the newest scientific journal. The boy had hit a dead end with his equations it seemed, every wall in the cell covered from floor to ceiling. He glared at them like they had personally offended him.

"Like," Varian continued. "I'm just going to be sitting here doing nothing for so long that my brain will rot away until all that's left are basic bodily functions. You'd be literally shoving food down my throat instead of figuratively."

The admiral smirked. Maybe he had been that dramatic at that age.

"I wonder how long you could actually live like that. Not like I'll ever know, because I'll be a drooling mass by then. Can't experiment in here to figure it out; if I could experiment I wouldn't have to worry about turning into a human slug."

Varian examined the raccoon sleeping on his lap, absentmindedly stroking its fur. "Meh, those experiments would be inhumane. Better leave that one alone."

So the kid still had some idea of right and wrong.

"Biology isn't really my thing anyway." Varian admitted. The child had stopped cussing out the guards and hadn't asked about hidden motives in a while. Maybe…

Cecil cleared his throat. "If you're that bored, I could tell you some tales. Since you've been so well behaved."

To his shock, Varian seemed to consider before shrugging. "Why not? Not like I have any better offers."

He couldn't hold back the smile from his face as he opened his journal to a well-worn page. "I believe the Missing Moon would be a good place to start…"


End file.
